


we live on the cusp of death (thinking that it won't be us)

by bowlingfornerds



Series: Zombieland [1]
Category: The 100
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Apocalypse, F/M, Modern Setting, The Walking Dead AU, Yes there's death of course there's death its the zombie AU, Zombies, promise theres not lots of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 01:05:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5807332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowlingfornerds/pseuds/bowlingfornerds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the outbreak happened, the world changed.<br/>People came back when they died, and they came back with a hunger for human flesh.<br/>It's been a few months and Clarke's made it this far - she's determined not to let it all go to waste now. She has a team, and she has her gun - she might just make it through this apocalypse.</p><p>It's the zombie apocalypse AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AYE. SOME STUFF BEFORE WE GET STARTED:  
> * Major character death - yeah, it's got to happen, sorry not sorry, if I didn't put this tag in everyone would be pissed at me. It's not very well written deaths, nor is it particularly emotional - but they're there.  
> * Violence - obviously. There are zombies. Everyone's shooting everyone, k?  
> * This fic took me two days and four bouts of writers block to create. I'm just glad it's done.  
> * It's kind of based on The Walking Dead - but the game, not the show. Clem is my child, Lee is my father, it's all relative, yes I probably stole a lot of ideas and scenes from the game, sorry not sorry.  
> * The title is just lyrics from Macklemore's 'Otherside' because I've been weirdly getting into his music lately.  
> * Beta testing takes too long so all mistakes are my own.  
> * Enjoy or don't enjoy, but thanks for reading.

Clarke remembers the beginning of the end of the world in the same way that she remembers her mistakes; clearly, brightly, vividly. She remembers the banging on her bedroom door, the growling from the other side, and the way, when she opened it, her father was standing there, flesh peeling from his skin and puss oozing from his eyes.

He’d been bitten by a homeless man, the night before, and then in the morning he had become a living dead, a walker that Clarke staggered away from, screaming. He had trudged into the room, arms lifting to reach for her, as she ducked out of the way, around him and slamming the door behind her. She had run for her mother, only to remember that she was across the country at a hospital benefit. Clarke didn’t know what was happening, but one click of the radio told her that it wasn’t her father playing a joke on her, it wasn’t a contained illness.

There was a breach, some sort of disease, those who died were coming back to life, bloodied and gory.

Clarke ran for the door, packing a backpack as she went. She jogged down the stairs to the cellar, ripping the key from its peg on the wall and unlocking the gun cabinet. She’d only used them once or twice in her life but she no longer cared – the end of the world was upon her and Clarke had played enough games and watched enough horror films to guess where it was going to go.

She packed her bag, climbed into the Jeep Wrangler that her parents had bought her the summer before, and drove through the streets, bodies attracted to the sound of the engine and clogging up the roads.

-

It had been seventy six days since the outbreak and every seat of her car was full. In the front seat was Raven – Clarke had found her about a month beforehand, holding down a pharmacy by herself, a bullet in the brain of her human-turned-walker boyfriend. Clarke traded a ride from Texas to Wisconsin for supplies.

When they reached Wisconsin they only found empty streets.

“It’s supposed to be safe here,” Raven had sighed. Clarke revved the engine and watched as the walkers crawled out of buildings and cars, hobbling over to the girls. No matter where the reports and rumours said the world was safe, it always wasn’t. Nowhere could be completely safe anymore.

In the back seats, Monty and Jasper, best friends since birth, sang along to the CD in the player. The girls had found them at the gas station about a week and a half after leaving Wisconsin. They’d been living there on their own, and asked to come along for the ride when it became evident that they wouldn’t last long otherwise. Luckily, the station had left over supplies that fit into the boot of the car just fine, and Jasper wasn’t too bad with a gun.

The last seat in the back was taken up by Wick, who’d joined only a few days before, with a gun and an array of dead bodies on the ground behind him, bullets through the brains, and blood down his clothes.

Clarke had never minded giving lifts to strangers, and she didn’t now, either. She was just more aware of the weapons that came with them.

“It’s gonna get dark soon,” Wick mentioned from the back.

“I know,” Clarke sighed. “We’ll have to find somewhere safe for the night.” Raven snorted from the passenger side and Clarke could almost hear her friends thought – _safe. Yeah right._ Nowhere was safe anymore.

“We’re heading into Polis, right?” Monty asked. Clarke nodded, flicking on the headlights.

“Yeah, we need some more supplies. I’m almost out of ammo.”

“We went there on a school trip once,” Jasper said. “They have this weapons stronghold – I think it’s something military.” Clarke and Raven exchanged a look.

“It’s probably been taken,” Raven mused. “There are really militant camps all over the place, I would bet they’ve got one there.”

“Don’t they recruit?” Wick asked.

“Probably.”

“Well, couldn’t we join one? It’d be safe.” Clarke shrugged, lights flashing over the ‘Now Entering Polis’ sign on the left.

“I do better on my own,” she replied quietly. No one spoke after that, just let the music wash over them and the lights land on various bodies across the road. Clarke kept focused on driving – she never let her mind wander, never let herself forget about the gun in the holster at her side and the weapons in the boot of the car. She never let herself think about the past, about the wasted bodies and the blood that still stained her skin.

She needed a shower, Clarke decided, as she drove around. She doubted that many places had water anymore – but some of the abandoned houses might have supplies anyway. Clarke waited until they were far enough into the town, and when she hadn’t seen a trail of walkers in a while, she parked the car beside a house.

“We’ll try there,” she announced.

They each checked their guns before leaving the Jeep, Clarke locking it behind them as they staked out the area. It was quiet; the sky was dark above them and a few street lamps flickered. She couldn’t see any lights in the houses along the road, and ventured forwards to the one she’d parked by.

“Keep an eye out,” Clarke instructed quietly. They moved carefully to the door, where she tried the handle. At the shake of her head, Raven moved forward, lowering the gun to the ground as she crouched in front of the lock. Clarke kept Raven around for a lot of reasons – she was good with a gun, she used to be a mechanic, she was smart and strong, and she could pick locks like she was made for it.

They entered, and Clarke glanced around, flicking the light switch closest to her. Nothing happened, and she sighed before turning to the others.

“No electricity,” she told them. “Monty, Jasper, take upstairs. Wick, garden and garage. Raven, try the living room – I’ll go for kitchen and dining room. Shout if you need help.” Their faces were serious when they nodded, and Clarke watched the travellers disperse, moving cautiously with their guns raised and fingers on triggers. Clarke moved through the archway to her right, looking around the corner at the linoleum flooring and tiled walls. On the fridge, a few drawings were stuck, and a couple of the cupboards were open. Clarke moved slowly through the room, moving to the next and finding an empty dining room, a chair knocked over and a photo on the wall crooked.

“Clear!” She called, before trudging back to the kitchen to ransack the cupboards. To her dismay, they were empty; every can and packet taken. Clarke sighed, hearing Raven’s ‘all clear’ sound through the house, and the back door open and shut as Wick confirmed the emptiness.

Then there was a gunshot from upstairs.

Immediately, Clarke sprang into action. She ran out of the kitchen, bolting to the steps, Raven on her tail. She could hear Monty’s swearing, as she rounded the corner. There were at least four doors leading off the hallway, but only one was open – so she pushed for that one.

“Monty?” She called. On the floor, a walker bled out, stinking of rot with its flesh torn open. Jasper was breathing heavily on the bed and Monty stood, gun in his hand. “What happened?” Monty just turned to Jasper, eyeing him carefully before looking back.

“Nothing, nothing,” he replied hastily. “Just a walker – surprised us. We haven’t checked the attic yet.”

“I’ll do it,” Raven volunteered, turning and moving towards the loft. Clarke glanced at Jasper for a moment, staring at the walker, before shaking her head. She didn’t need to be thinking about the worst right now.

“There’s no food downstairs,” she told them. “But the place is empty – we can stay here for tonight.”

“And look for the stronghold tomorrow?” Wick asked from behind her. Clarke glanced around, shrugging. She didn’t want to be stuck at one of those places, but if Wick wanted to be, the least she could do was drop him off there. He _had_ killed a walker that had cornered her when they first met.

“Sure, we can try,” she agreed. Clarke really just wanted a shower.

-

In the morning, they packed up their supplies, and anything they found in the house that would come in handy. Then they piled into the Jeep and Clarke pulled out onto the street. They passed walkers on the road, eating bodies or wandering about, some without limbs or eyes; others with their jaws ripped from their skulls.

Clarke kept her eyes directly forward, following the map that Monty read aloud from, next to her, in the direction of the stronghold. In the back, Jasper coughed; deep, awful coughing and Clarke cringed.

“Are you alright?” She asked, passing traffic lights that flickered all three colours at once.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied wearily. “I think I’m just ill, is all.”

“We’ve got meds and stuff,” Raven suggested, and Jasper replied quickly.

“No, don’t worry about it – it might pass within the day. If it goes on for longer than that, I’ll take some.”

The music was off as they drove, so they could hear oncoming walkers, other cars or survivors in Polis. She doubted there would be many of the latter – survivors were rare to come by these days. The whole world had been taken out so quickly; people not realising that the bullet had to go through the brain to keep them down, others just dying naturally and coming back without being bitten at all. Those first few weeks of figuring out the disease were the worst; Clarke didn’t even know what was happening at the time. She just stayed by herself, finding information from survivors she passed until she’d collected enough to understand what she was facing.

The stronghold was called the Drop Ship, according to the sign crafted along the barbwire fences. Clarke parked on the road, at the main gate, and stepped out, cocking her gun as she did so. The fence was supposedly electrified, and she looked around, trying to find out if it was true.

Fortunately, she saw a walker – a woman with one arm and dark matted hair – trudging slowly towards them. Clarke wandered over, shrugging her jacket until it was comfortable and waiting for the walker to get close enough. She didn’t want to alert all of the zombies in the area, so she tucked the gun into the back of her jeans and pulled out a knife, stabbing it into the back of the walker’s head the second it got close enough. Clarke twisted it, turning around the walker as it howled, and shoved it in the direction of the fence.

When they reached it, she dislodged the weapon, and kicked the walker forwards.

Clarke watched the dead woman fry; skin burning against the metal riddled with electricity. It shuddered, trying to move back but just catching itself on the fence more. Clarke turned away, climbing back into the Jeep.

“They have electricity,” she said. “There are people in there.” The five of them looked to the gates, before each other.

“We could use the horn,” Monty suggested. “If they’re in there, they’ll hear us.”

“So will every walker within a mile,” Raven retorted. “We should drive around – see if there are any other entrances.”

“If they have patrols, they’ll find us eventually.” Wick leaned forward in the back. “But we don’t know how long they’ll be.” Clarke huffed; she became the defacto leader early on – it was her car, she was taking them places, she also had the most common sense. She would therefore have to make the decision.

“We’ll walk around – to the end of the fence that we can see. If we see someone, we’ll call them over, ask for entry. If not, we walk back. And someone stays by the car.”

“I can stay,” Wick suggested. Clarke glanced over to the back. Jasper was shivering in his seat, eyes barely open, curled up against the door.

“Stay with Jasper,” she instructed. “Monty, Raven, take the left – I’ll take the right. Just go up the corner, if you can’t see the car anymore, come back.” They all checked their ammo before going their separate ways – Wick into the front seat (without the key, seeing as Clarke didn’t trust him _that_ much), and Monty and Raven heading off down the road.

Clarke wandered on her own for a while, checking back periodically to see if she could still spot the Jeep, and slicing the heads off of the walkers that dared approach her.

The sun was still low in the sky, and she was almost the entire way along the fence, when she saw the butterfly. It was on the other side of the fence, flitting along near the barbs; blue and black wings. Clarke hadn’t seen a butterfly in a very long time – too long. She watched for a while, walking along side it, until she saw the person.

Clarke stopped in her tracks.

A gun was pointed at her, and a woman stood on the other side of the fence, staring down the barrel of her shotgun. Clarke held her hands in the air, bloodied slightly with a knife.

“Hey,” she announced. “Is there a colony in there?” The woman frowned, stepping slightly closer. She must have known that the fence was electrified, and that she didn’t need the gun, but she held it up anyway.

“Who’s asking?” She called back. Her voice was pretty but hardened, and Clarke caught a glimpse of a perfect jawline through her cascading dark hair.

“My name’s Clarke – four others and I are hoping to come in? We’re looking for a safe place.” The woman lowered her gun, slowly, looking Clarke over. Her hair wasn’t really clean, and tied back, and she hadn’t been able to have a shower that didn’t involve the hose in the back garden – Clarke looked beaten and worn, while the woman looked clean and slightly bruised, but mostly okay.

“You want to stay here?” She asked. Clarke paused before shaking her head.

“Maybe the people I’m with do, but I’m alright out here.” The woman’s gun was lowered completely, and Clarke’s hands were back by her sides.

“I can’t let you in without talking to Kane,” she said. “He’s in charge around here.” Clarke nodded, understanding. “I’ll just-“ she held up a walkie talkie, that must have been in her pocket, before her eyes opened. “Behind you!”

Clarke spun, finding a walker, jaw open wide, eyes glazed over, reaching out from right behind her. How the woman hadn’t noticed before was beyond Clarke, but she didn’t care in the moment, slashing out her knife. The walker gripped onto her arm, pulling it towards its mouth, but Clarke was quicker. She kicked solidly at its knee, the walker collapsing, and Clarke yanking out the gun from the back of her jeans. She shot it in the head, the grip on her hand loosening before the walker fell to the ground.

“That was so bad ass!” The woman said from behind her. Clarke turned back, the stranger had a smile on her face and the gun by her side. “Are you alright?” Clarke nodded. “That was so cool! I’ve never killed a walker before – I’ve seen it happen so many times, but you just shot right into action!” Clarke smiled a little, nodding.

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” she replied begrudgingly. “Now, can you call someone about letting my team in?” The woman nodded happily.

“Of course! I’m Octavia by the way – I’ll walk back along with you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke drove the Jeep into the Drop Ship – the electric gates closing behind them and a small crowd forming in the open area. Octavia had managed to get the okay from Kane – whoever he may be – and pointed over to an area of cars, much like Clarke’s own, for her to park in.

The five of them climbed out, Jasper lagging behind a little, but looking more refreshed after his nap, and the group watched as they were approached. Everyone wore similar clothes, Clarke noticed first. While many had jackets and their own clothing on, there were other coats and bullet proof vests, all with a similar logo on. They were a unit, she realised – there was probably going to be rules and guidelines they had to follow during their stay, and Clarke pursed her lips at the thought of being caged in.

However, she didn’t need to worry. Octavia stood by her, and pointed out Kane as he neared. “He’s that one,” she said. “Dark hair, beard – has a little team behind him?” Clarke looked to where Octavia was pointing, and her face broke out into a smile. Kane seemed to notice at the same time.

“Clarke?” He called, quickening his pace. “Clarke, is that you?”

“Marcus!” Clarke cried, relieved. “Oh my God – you’re alive.” She rushed into his open arms, embracing him for all it was worth. She’d been so hardened for so long that Clarke had forgotten what it was like to melt back into familiarity.

“So are you – I can’t believe this. Abby is going to be so happy.”

“Mum’s alive?” Clarke asked. “Is she here?” Marcus shook his head, and Clarke frowned.

“She went out on a scouting party a few days ago-“ he looked up, finding the group of her friends, and those of the people who looked up to him watching. Marcus shook his head. “We’ll talk later, don’t worry. Are you staying?” Clarke paused. She wanted to see her mother – she’d been under the impression that Abby was dead since the outbreak – but she also didn’t want to be trapped in one of these camps.

“I don’t know yet,” she said. Marcus looked worried for only a moment, before glancing over her team.

“Well we’ll find you all some food, yes? If you’re all going to be leaving, we can’t send you out empty-handed.”

They were led to the dining area, and fed with food Clarke had only dreamed about for the past few months. They ate until they couldn’t anymore, and then Marcus came over, flanked by Octavia and a man with brown skin and dark, ruffled hair.

They sat down at the end of the table, and Clarke watched them carefully as they eyed the group.

“What’s wrong with that one,” the stranger of the three asked, jutting his chin towards Jasper. Her friend’s skin was growing pale, and purple bags hung under his eyes. He hadn’t eaten as much as the others, but Clarke hadn’t thought about that.

“He’s ill,” she replied. The man narrowed his eyes a little.

“What type of illness?”

“We don’t know,” Monty said. “He’s just ill, okay?” The stranger leant back a little, glancing towards Octavia, and she shrugged.

“As long as he wasn’t bitten, Bellamy, I’m sure he’s fine,” Marcus smoothed, shaking his head. The man – Bellamy – looked away, nodding a little. A few months ago, Clarke would have pondered over his name – it was unusual yet rolled off the tongue perfectly. But a few months ago, an apocalypse wasn’t happening. Now there was. She didn’t think about it, but instead focused on Marcus. “If you’ve eaten, Clarke, I think we should have a talk.” She nodded, standing and following him to an office, leaving Octavia and Bellamy with her friends.

Marcus’ office seemed to be the office of whoever ran the military stronghold before the apocalypse. Clarke glanced around.

“Why aren’t the armed forces in control of this place?” She asked. Marcus shrugged, sitting in his chair behind his desk.

“They were, right at the beginning. But I heard the outbreak reached them, and they were taken out one by one – all the others left to find their families. That’s when Abby and I swooped in. We had a group of doctors and donors from the benefit we were at, and we took over this place.” Clarke nodded, settling into the chair opposite his. “She’s going to be so thrilled to find out that you’re alive – you will stay at least until she gets here, right?” Clarke paused.

“Probably,” she replied. “But it depends on my team, too.”

“Will they all be leaving with you?”

“I don’t know – Wick seemed pretty happy to be here, he’ll probably stay if he can. Monty and Jasper don’t leave each other’s sides.”

“And the other one? Raven?”

“I think she’ll probably come with me,” Clarke nodded. They were quiet for a moment. “Have you heard from either of the Jahas since the outbreak?” Marcus sighed.

“No, I haven’t. Thelonious was supposed to be at the benefit with us, but he called to say that his flight was delayed. Wells was supposedly still on campus, too.” Clarke nodded. After she left home, she went for Harvard first, hoping to find him. She drove around for days; visited his room, his halls – all around her were people in panic and the dead. She almost died so many times in those first few days, just searching for her best friend.

“I went to his campus,” she told him quietly. “I couldn’t find him anywhere.”

“Maybe he’s back in Ark,” Marcus suggested. “He might have gone home, hoping to find us all there. How’s Jake?” Clarke’s jaw tensed and her expression turned steely.

“If he’s where I left him, then he’ll be in my bedroom as a walker,” she replied stonily. Marcus’ face closed off.

“Shit,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry, Clarke.”

-

The next day, Octavia sat with Clarke at breakfast.

“I heard you might be heading out soon,” she said. Clarke shrugged.

“I don’t know yet – we’re figuring it out.” Raven sat down opposite her at the table, with her tray of food, and Monty came close behind.

“Wick’s integrated himself pretty well.” Raven nodded to Wick, a few tables away, talking with the people of the camp. “Maybe he’ll stay after all.”

“They only keep people if they have a use,” Octavia replied, shaking her head. “Does he have one?”

“He took out more walkers in one go than anyone I’ve ever seen,” Clarke mused. Monty nodded.

“He said he was an engineer before the outbreak, too.” Octavia pursed her lips.

“They’ll probably keep him if he wants to be kept,” she agreed.

“What’s yours?” Raven asked, mouth full of food.

“What’s my what?” Octavia replied.

“Your use – what’s your use?” The girl shrugged, glancing around as she prodded at her food.

“I think they just like having Bell around, and we come as a package deal,” she replied. Clarke frowned.

“Who?”

“Bell – Bellamy. He’s my brother,” Octavia explained. “He’s always been protective, but he’s been so much more so since this zombie thing started that I haven’t even killed a zombie yet by myself, _and_ we joined the Drop Ship almost immediately after it began.”

“What does Bellamy bring to the table?” Monty asked, Jasper slinking down by his side.

“He’s the best shot here,” Octavia smiled. “No one can shoot like him – he’s leading the guard and the patrols. Fucking hates it here but he knows it’s what he has to do to keep us safe.”

“Do you hate it here?” Raven asked. Octavia shrugged.

“I’ve never _liked_ it, but it is what it is.” Raven met Clarke’s eye for just a moment, and the latter of the two girls looked away. They couldn’t take the siblings with them – they couldn’t. If Wick was staying, there’d only be one free seat in the Jeep, and Clarke doubted either of the two would let the other go on their own.

“O,” a voice called. Bellamy walked over, gun strapped to his back and a water bottle in his hand. He handed the bottle to his sister and smiled fondly. “You’re on patrol this morning – sign out a gun and start at the West fence, clockwise.” Octavia nodded with a sigh.

“Duty calls,” she said to the others, standing. “I’ll see you guys later.” Bellamy stayed a moment longer than the others, looking over the group. He nodded to Jasper, who was forcing himself to eat at the end of the table.

“Take him to medical,” he instructed, although there was a soft edge in his voice. “We have drugs that’ll help him.” Monty muttered something as Bellamy left, but Clarke didn’t catch it. She just watched him send a worried look to his best friend.

-

Jasper turned into a walker at seven past ten PM, that evening. They were in the bunks they’d been assigned, when the growling started.

“What the hell is that?” Raven complained.

“I don’t know,” Wick replied. “It’s coming from Jasper’s direction, I think.” Raven heaved a sigh and slipped down from her bed, heading over to where Jasper was curled up under his blanket. She made it within a metre before letting out a yelp and ducking backwards.

“What is it?” Clarke asked urgently.

“Walker!” Raven called back. Clarke shot out of bed, following to where Jasper was batting about the blanket, attracted to the noise.

“Shit!” Clarke fumbled for her gun, but found that she didn’t have one on her. They were militant about the weapons, at the Drop Ship – Marcus had had all of them taken away. “What do we do?” She turned, finding her friends all standing, Raven reaching for a chair.

“Smash his brain,” she replied. “It’s the only way.”

“No!” Monty cried. “You can’t!” Clarke spun to face him.

“Did you know?” She asked. Monty didn’t reply, but his eyes just shot to where Jasper was crawling his way out of bed. “ _Did you know_!” She demanded loudly this time. Clarke heard footsteps outside, but she directed her anger at Monty anyway. He nodded, turning away – tears were threatening to spill, she could see, and Clarke huffed.

“It was only a small scratch – back at that house we were at a few days ago! It wasn’t big, so we thought it would be okay!”

“Monty!” Clarke cried.

“Not okay!” Raven complained.

“What the fuck,” Wick muttered. “You could have killed all of us.”

“I didn’t mean to! I suggested cutting off his arm, but he chickened out!” Clarke caught sight of the trail of tears glinting in the fluorescent lights.

“Fucking hell,” she breathed, looking back to where Jasper was standing, now, moving towards them. He was faster than other walkers – having all of his limbs – and they moved around the room as they argued, Jasper getting confused over the noise.

“We have to kill him!” Raven called out, from where she was sitting on the top bunk.

“No!” Monty yelled back. “We can’t!”

“We have to,” Wick argued. “He’ll kill people here if we don’t.” Clarke moved about, climbing up onto a top bunk like the others.

“It’s the only way, Monty. He’s a walker – he’s not Jasper anymore.” Monty sniffed, rubbing his hand across his face. They were silent for a while, letting Jasper’s confused moaning fill the room. Eventually, Monty spoke again.

“At least- at least let me do it,” he insisted.

“We only have the chair,” Raven nodded. Monty let out a strangled cry and Jasper growled, as if he were personally offended by this.

“I’ll get a gun,” Clarke said. “I’m closest to the door. Raven, distract him – don’t let anyone else in, and I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

Raven started clapping, and Jasper turned to her, eyes looking through her instead of at her. He started limping in her direction, and although Clarke hadn’t known him for long, she ached a little to see him that way. She slipped down from the bed, and out the door, shutting it quietly. Before she could think about anything else, Clarke jogged through the camp, looking for someone – anyone – with a gun.

The first person she saw, luckily, was Bellamy. They weren’t friends, and they hadn’t actually spoken – but she knew _of_ him, and she was just glad for that. Clarke slowed to a walk as she reached him, and he turned to face her, brow furrowed.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said as a greeting. “It’s not safe.”

“There’s an electric fence,” Clarke replied. “I’ll be fine.”

“No – well, yeah, from _them_ , but people get kicked out of this place for breaking the rules. It’s past curfew.” She nodded, mulling this over for a moment, before shrugging.

“Could you escort me back to my room, then? I don’t want to get in trouble.” Bellamy eyed her cautiously for a moment, before looking around. When he was satisfied that he couldn’t see any walkers, he nodded.

“Okay, quickly. Come on.” Clarke followed along behind him, hands in her pockets to keep out the cold, and watched his jacket sway with his movements. Bellamy was taller than her by quite a way, and looked like he was far more in shape, too. She wondered if he’d always looked this steely, or if it was just since the outbreak. Either way, she liked it – it matched her sharp edges and iron skin in a way others hadn’t before.

When they neared the room, she stopped beside him. “I’m going to need your gun,” she told him.

“What?” Bellamy asked incredulously.

“Your gun – I’m going to need it.”

“And why’s that?” She pursed her lips, not wanting to say. “You know Kane will let you leave at any time, right? You don’t have to shoot your way out.” Clarke shook her head.

“It’s not that, it’s something different.” Bellamy glared at her for a moment.

“No – what is this about, Clarke?” She was surprised he knew her name, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she sighed, and her hands shot forwards, grasping at his wrist and twisting it suddenly. She caught his ankle with her own, turning him around and holding his wrist to his shoulder blades as he cried out. “What the fuck!”

Clarke yanked the pistol from his holster, and dropped him to the ground, running the final few metres to the door, as he scrambled back up. She slammed the door behind her, the walker in their bedroom turning towards her. Clarke ran to the closest bunk bed – which Monty sat on – and climbed up.

Only a moment later did the door open again, and Bellamy rushed through. She watched as he saw Jasper, eyes widening as the door shut behind him. He glared, dodging the walker’s swipe and climbing up onto a bunk bed on the other side of the room.

“What the fuck is this?” He asked. “You brought a _lurker_ to our camp?!”

“To be fair,” Clarke called across the room. “We didn’t know he was turning.” She felt Monty stiffen beside her, but none of them said anything. Bellamy hoisted his gun – she’d taken the pistol from him, but not the main one he held, and Clarke moved out a hand. “Don’t!”

“ _What?_ It’s a lurker! I need to kill it.”

“Let Monty,” Raven said firmly. Bellamy looked over to her, and Raven’s steady expression and he lowered the gun slowly.

“Fine,” he bit out. Clarke handed over the gun, and Monty pointed it at his best friend. Clarke heard him whisper something, something to Jasper, the boy he’d grown up with, before the gunshot rang out. They stared at the body on the floor for a while; the hole through its head, and the only sound in the room was that of Monty’s sobs. Clarke held him tightly, feeling his shaking through her body, and waited for the others on patrol to turn up.

When they did, she didn’t listen. She knew there was yelling but it all sounded so far away, so distant and under water. Bellamy spoke to them, and when Marcus entered, all she could hear was Monty’s ragged breathing and Marcus’ words, on repeat: _you brought a roamer here you brought a roamer here you brought a roamer here._

-

In the morning, Clarke packed up the Jeep. Raven moved the guns from the Drop Ship’s safes and back into the car, and Monty lugged the boxes of supplies into the boot. His face was blank and emotionless. Clarke didn’t say anything to him, just kept quiet and she filled up the tank, and looked out across the camp.

Marcus wandered over, after a while.

“I’m sorry, Clarke,” he sighed. “I hope you understand.” She nodded, and glanced around. Monty was heading back to where the boxes had been dumped, so she looked back to Marcus.

“I do,” she replied. “We endangered your lives. Thank you for letting Wick stay, though – that’s very kind of you.” Marcus nodded only once. He moved forward and the two hugged, for just a moment, before separating.

“I’m sorry you won’t be here to see your mother, too,” he continued. Clarke nodded, glancing away. “Is there a message you’d like me to pass on?” Clarke paused, before reaching into the car. She held out an envelope for Marcus, and he took it carefully, as if holding the holy grail.

“It’s just some things I wanted to tell her,” Clarke shrugged. “If it’s alright, I might swing back around here in the future? To see if she’s here?” Marcus nodded.

“Just give it some time. The people are still fresh from having to bury a roamer this morning.” Clarke nodded, and Marcus made his departure. Eventually, the Jeep was packed up, and Monty sat inside, head resting against the window.

“He was doing what he thought was best,” Raven murmured, looking at her friend. Clarke nodded.

“I know,” she whispered in return.

Octavia approached her, a backpack slung over her shoulder. She glanced around and Clarke straightened, as Raven climbed into the back of the car with Monty.

“What’s that for?” Clarke asked, nodding to the rucksack. Octavia shrugged.

“Depends,” she replied.

“On what?”

“On if you let me and my brother tag along or not.” Clarke raised her eyebrows and Octavia’s cool cracked. “Oh please, we hate it here. And I’ve been talking to Bellamy about it – and we’re only here because he wants to keep me safe, we can be safe in other places, right?”

“What did he have to say about it?” Clarke questioned.

“It took forever, but he agreed as long as it’s cool with you. He wasn’t going to, but since you have two spare seats now…” she trailed off, ducking her head, and Clarke’s lips thinned out into a straight line. Wick had already said his goodbye, and was waiting in the group by the gate to wave them off, and Jasper… well, Jasper wasn’t given a chance to said his farewell. She took a few breaths to think about it – it was probably a risk to bring them on. Bellamy would do anything for his sister, it seemed, and that was probably going to get him killed – and Octavia had never killed a walker before in her life. _But_ , they group had just lost its two best shots, and if Bellamy was the best shooter they had here at the Drop Ship…

“Fine,” Clarke said at last, straightening. “You can come along-“ Octavia squealed, pulling Clarke in for a crushing hug. “But- _but_ ,” Octavia pulled away, listening intently. “I’m in charge, and if I say we’re leaving you, because either of you are endangering the group, that’s going to have to be the way it is, okay?” Octavia paused before nodding.

“Okay, okay – thank you so much, Clarke! I’ll go get Bellamy.” Clarke watched Octavia run off, pulling on the second strap of her backpack as she went. Bellamy was standing off in the distance, but Clarke didn’t watch to see in the encounter. Instead, she climbed into the Jeep, and checked on the others.

“Are you guys set?” She asked. Raven nodded from the middle seat, arm around Monty’s shoulders, and he didn’t reply. Clarke nodded to herself, before starting the ignition and manoeuvring the Jeep around to face the open. She approached it, before stopping.

“What are you waiting for?” Raven asked. Clarke didn’t reply. Instead, the two doors opened, and Bellamy climbed into the front seat, and Octavia into the back, both storing their bags by their feet. Bellamy stared straight forwards, and Octavia grinned at Raven, while Clarke looked out the window at the confused faces of the people of the Drop Ship. There was a knock at her window before she rolled it down.

“What are they doing, Clarke?” Marcus’ voice was firm, steely, and she glanced over.

“They’re coming with us.”

“That’s not how this works, Clarke.”

“I’m sorry, but it is now.” She pressed down on the accelerator, and drives out of camp, only briefly glancing back in the rear view mirror at Wick, waving, and at Marcus, fuming. They drove in silence for a while before Bellamy spoke.

“Thank you,” he said. Clarke nodded tersely.

“Is it against the rules to leave?” She asked. He shrugged. In the back, Raven and Octavia talked amongst themselves.

“It’s just not accepted very well,” he replied. “But we had to get out of there.”

“I thought you were head of patrols?” Bellamy shook his head, and Clarke goes a little faster, hitting a walker in the middle of the road. It crunches under the wheels and she doesn’t flinch.

“I was a guard, yeah – and I helped with scheduling. Kane was nice, sure – but it’s strict. There are some not nice people there, and I don’t like that Octavia is growing up around them.”

“How old is she?” Clarke asked quietly.

“Seventeen.”

“And she’s never killed a walker?”

“I don’t want her to have to,” he replied bitterly. Clarke nodded and flicked on the stereo. Music poured through the speakers and she let it soak up the tension in the car. “Where are we headed, anyway?” Clarke pursed her lips for a moment, and she glanced in the mirror to find Raven and Octavia waiting for the answer. She thought about the people around her – they would want to find their families eventually. Raven was already with hers, and had to kill him, so Clarke knew that they wouldn’t be returning to Halycon anytime soon. Monty, from Tondisy, had watched his entire family die, and now Jasper too – so they wouldn’t be heading there, either.

She didn’t know where Bellamy and Octavia came from, but at that moment, she didn’t need to know. She needed to find _her_ family first. And while that, unfortunately, didn’t include Abby, there was still someone else left.

“Ark,” she announced. She had to find Wells.


	3. Chapter 3

No one drove the Jeep Wrangler apart from Clarke. Those were the rules. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust them, but, well, _she didn’t trust them._ She wanted to believe that they wouldn’t take off without her, or they wouldn’t drive to the wrong place, or crash the car stupidly, but she couldn’t. So Clarke drove and when she was tired they’d stop and take a rest, usually in the middle of the day so they wouldn’t have to explore in the dark. Clarke slept in the driver’s seat, pushed back so it lay flat, while the others slept or searched the area.

Ark was a long way from Polis, and they spent days this way. Their supplies were supposed to last three people for two months, but with the extra hitch hikers, they were down to a month’s supply. Luckily, Octavia hadn’t been exaggerating when she said that Bellamy was a good shot. On the fourth day they reached a supermarket that looked fairly untouched, and Bellamy shot down fourteen walkers without blinking, as Octavia grabbed supplies. They returned to the car, smiling and unfazed, and Clarke wondered if Octavia even needed to learn how to kill with a brother like that.

But apparently so, because on the sixth day of driving, Clarke emptied the boot out, and lifted up the carpeting. Hidden amongst the spare tire were knives, guns, and a baseball bat, that she’d collected on her travels.

“Oh my gosh,” Octavia breathed, and lifted the machete, testing its weight. “Why do you have so many?”

“Always need to be prepared,” Clarke responded. She fished out a pistol and checked the magazine before handing it to Octavia. “I’m sick of you not knowing how to protect yourself,” was her explanation, as she returned all the supplies. While Bellamy was exceptionally pissed, when Octavia showed him her new weapons, he only took it out on Clarke once.

“Don’t you fucking come to me when she’s dead because you couldn’t take on a herd of walkers by yourself, because she didn’t know how to defend herself,” Clarke threatened, and Bellamy shut up. The next day, she saw him showing Octavia how to hold the gun properly, and the day after, when they were sat by a field of corn, Octavia practicing with her machete on the crops.

After a week, Bellamy and Clarke found that they worked well together. Monty was a wreck, but they both managed to delegate work, and while Raven was hesitant about taking orders from the stranger, even she realised that his ideas weren’t worthless. He sat in the front with Clarke at least ninety percent of the time, and she didn’t find herself minding. Clarke liked the company that he brought.

After thirteen days, they reached Ark, and Bellamy asked why they had gone there.

“I mean, it’s _Ark_ ,” he said as Clarke filled up the tank. Monty, Raven and Octavia had gone to scout out the store, and see if there were any survivors or supplies left, and the two stood by the car, guns loaded. “That place is the breeding ground for the wealthy – I doubt there’s a home that _hasn’t_ been looted yet.” Clarke snorted, rolling her eyes.

“I grew up there,” she told him. His face was blank, and he leaned against the car.

“You grew up in Ark,” he said simply. She nodded. “Man, if capitalism still existed, I would have a right speech prepared for you,” he grinned. Clarke laughed, leaning through the window to check the fuel gauge.

“I would love to hear it sometime,” she replied. “I have one in return about smashing the patriarchy – but I totally agree about a lot of the points about self-serving rich jackasses.”

“I didn’t even make the speech and you stole my main point,” he joked, rolling his eyes. Clarke grinned back.

“I’ve heard the speech before,” she replied. “But I bet yours is more eloquent.”

“All my speeches are eloquent,” he agreed. “But seriously, Ark,” he continued. “Are we heading back to your house, or what?” Clarke shrugged, she’d had two weeks to think about it, but she still didn’t know where she was going. It had been over three months since the outbreak – Wells surely wouldn’t be there, would he?

“There’s a couple of places I want to check out,” she said slowly. “Mine is one of them, yeah.” Bellamy just nodded, looking up as the others returned, empty-handed. Clarke climbed back into the car.

“Off to the castle, then,” Bellamy said, shutting the door behind her.

-

They started at Clarke’s house. Or, well, mansion.

The driveway took over a minute to get through, hundreds of metres of concrete, weeds growing either side from the grass that hadn’t been cut in months. The sculptures made from bushes that used to decorate the lawn were now overgrown, and the shapes couldn’t be discerned. There were broken windows at the front of the house, and Clarke bit her tongue to stop her from crying. Her childhood home had been defaced, and she stepped out of the car slowly, taking it all in.

The door was open, just slightly, and Clarke checked the ammo in her gun before nodding the rest of them forward. They each took separate rooms, stepping slowly through the house, over smashed vases and overturned plants. The cabinets in the kitchen were bare and all that was left in the fridge had long gone mouldy. Clarke moved slowly upstairs, once they’d agreed that downstairs was empty, and her friends moved behind her.

She knew the pathway to her room like the back of her hand, and the door was shut, just like the last time she saw it. Clarke wondered if walkers could die again – would they starve or just continue, living on in their post-life phase, no matter what? Clarke nodded for Monty and Octavia to head down to her parent’s bedroom, and for Raven to check the other hall, while Bellamy followed her slowly towards her bedroom.

She glanced at him when she reached the door, and even though he seemed confused, his nod was supportive. Clarke turned the handle, pushing the door open, and moving in.

It smelled like death, and in front of her was the long-dead body of her father. Clarke felt winded, like the breath was lost from her lungs as she looked at the walker, dead on the ground. There was a pool of brown-grey blood, and a hole in his forehead, and Clarke turned away, facing Bellamy.

She didn’t have to look at him to know he was staring at the body too, and his arms automatically opened, clutching her to his chest.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, and Clarke held her eyes shut, pushing her face against him. Her breathing became rapid and her legs felt like jelly. Bellamy held her up, still, solid and calm. “It’s okay,” he promised.

-

“They ransacked everything,” Octavia told her, when they were downstairs again. Clarke sat on the sofa, legs pulled up against her chest. Bellamy sat next to her, an arm around her shoulders and her head propped up against him.

“What’s the point in looting one of these places?” Raven asked. “It’s worthless during an apocalypse.”

“Bandits, probably,” Octavia replied. Clarke raised her eyebrows, though she didn’t care too much. She’d heard briefly about the bandits, but had never encountered them. “They’re ruthless, practically soulless at this point. I heard they kill each other and anyone who they don’t like, no questions asked.”

“We don’t like to talk about bandits,” Bellamy said, his voice loud enough in the room to quieten his sister, but still low and soft. “If we run into them, we leave – we don’t try to reason with them, just hand over our stuff and go.”

“Hand over our stuff?” Raven asked incredulously. “Why?”

“Because that’s all they care about,” Monty replied into the silence; the first full sentence he’d said since Jasper’s death. “It’s a world where not even death matters anymore – possessions are all that’s got any worth anymore.” The others stared at him, and he stood.

“We shouldn’t stay here,” he continued. “We have a long time until it gets dark – I’m sure there’s a more secure place somewhere else.” Clarke swallowed, nodding.

“You’re right,” she agreed. “We’ll head to Wells’ house – hopefully he’ll be there.”

-

It was only a few minutes in the car to reach her best friend’s home. Like her own, the gates out the front were destroyed, and Clarke drove in without having to use the security options. Bellamy peered out of his window, eyebrows raised.

“How did any of you have so much money?” He asked. Clarke focused on the road in front of her.

“My mother is a brain surgeon and my father founded Griffin Enterprises-“

“Aren’t they an engineering company?” Raven asked. Clarke nodded.

“Something like that – but it was big and important, and made lots of money.”

“And this guy?” Octavia questioned.

“His father is a member of the senate,” Clarke replied. “And I’m sure there’s some old money, too – we’re all old money around here.”

“Not like it matters now,” Bellamy muttered. Clarke sighed.

“No, I guess not.” She parked up by the front of the house and sat there, staring at the windows, half broken but the rest intact. Then she glanced at the other cars.

“That one’s not theirs,” she said quietly, nodding to a junker down the side. It was out of place with the house, and the town cars that would be in the garage.

“So, strangers?” Raven suggested.

“Or Wells,” Clarke shrugged, opening the door. They headed up to the house, looking around them as they went. It was quiet; Wells’ estate had always been so, but never this much. It was like something was waiting for them.

Monty was at the front of the group, a solid expression on his face as he pushed open the front door. It creaked into the darkness, and he stepped through the gap, trying the light switch at the side. Nothing happened, and the other four followed him in, fingers by the triggers. Octavia hefted her machete, and Clarke stepped into the atrium, looking about. Chairs and tables were turned on their sides, paintings ripped down from the walls and glass from the windows, lying smashed on the floor.

No walkers, though, and no signs of life.

“Spread out,” she hissed. “No one heads upstairs yet.” They made their way through the lower floor, slow steps, cringing when they made the glass crunch under their shoes. But there was nothing – the kitchen staff had long gone, and the cabinets were mostly empty. A thin layer of dust was spread across the furniture like a blanket, and Clarke wondered if anyone had even been in there since the outbreak.

They joined back together at the foot of the steps, and she and Monty went first, careful to stick to the outside where the stairs wouldn’t creak. Upstairs, everything was just as bad. Broken furniture and a few smashed windows. There were streaks of graffiti across the walls; obscene words and long lines of red ink.

“Bandits,” Bellamy whispered, confirming Clarke’s thoughts. If they’d been here, there was no chance that Wells would be still, too. He would be dead, a walker in the house, trapped in a room like her father was. Clarke swallowed, pressing forwards. They each took different rooms, carefully turning the knobs and pointing their guns into the rooms – but no walkers emerged and no one living did, either.

Clarke wandered through Wells’ bedroom, picking his rucksack off of the floor and grimacing.

“What is it?” Raven asked from the doorway. Clarke looked up, before emptying the contents of the bag out onto the bed.

“He took this with him to university,” she explained.

“Which means he came back,” Raven continued. Clarke nodded, looking over the textbooks he’d brought with him – they were probably in his bag at the time of the outbreak, and didn’t take them out. She moved around the room, filling the pack with his clothes that he’d left behind, and a few photos, tearing them out of the frames and placing them into the smaller pockets.

“But he’s not here, so he’s probably dead,” Clarke finished. When she’d filled the bag, Clarke swung it onto her shoulders, taking Wells’ baseball hat from the desk where he’d left it when he went off to university and placing it backwards on her head, like she did when they were kids. Raven sighed in the doorway.

“I’m sorry.” Clarke nodded but didn’t move otherwise, just standing in the room and looking around all that was her best friend. Raven left and Clarke took a moment to memorise the wallpaper, the trinkets on the shelves, the canvases of _her_ artwork that he’d hung on the walls. Then she followed her friend out, meeting the others at the top of the stairs.

“It’s empty,” Bellamy confirmed, shaking his head. “No one’s here.” Clarke looked about the landing, before her eyes crossed a painting. She paused, before walking up to it, and taking it off the wall. Behind it was a safe, and she punched in the code that Wells had told her, years before.

The safe was empty, like everything else in the house, but it _did_ remind her of something else.

“The bunker,” she whispered.

“What?”

“The bunker.” Clarke turned around, a new gleam of hope in her eye. She moved forward quickly, jogging down the stairs as her friends followed closely behind. Clarke wove her way through the house, making her way back to the kitchen, and to the pantry. It was filled with only rotting food – nothing sustainable, otherwise – but the overturned milk on the floor, puddling white onto the tiles, hid the seam of the hatch.

Clarke kicked the milk bottle away, smiling to herself as she twisted the lock. The door was heavy, and she hefted it by herself until Bellamy ducked down beside her, taking the weight off of her and pushing it open. The torches were glowing at the bottom of the shaft, which Clarke took to be a good sign of life. She swung her legs over the edge and onto the ladder to start the descent.

“Wait, Clarke,” Bellamy stopped her, putting his hand on her forearm. She ignored the tingles she felt rush through her nerves. “Anyone could be down there – good or bad. And if it _is_ Wells, he might have turned – he might be a lurker, okay?” She swallowed, averting her eyes, before nodding.

“I need to know,” she replied firmly. Bellamy nodded and Clarke started climbing down, one rung at a time. Half way down, Bellamy started the descent too, and by the time she was at the bottom, Raven was also there. Clarke cocked her pistol and starting to slowly trudge down the hallway – torches were lit against the walls, but the corridor itself was tiled perfectly, only dust marring its surface. Clarke didn’t like the way her footsteps echoed in the hallway, but she continued forwards anyway.

At the end of the hallway was the door – it was heavy duty, with a code and a wheel that needed to be turned. Bellamy joined her.

“What is this place?” He asked.

“A bunker,” she replied. “Nuclear apocalypse, zombie apocalypse, bomb threat – the whole place is practically impenetrable.” Raven and Monty appeared next, Octavia following at the rear.

“Do you know the code?” Raven asked, nodding towards the keypad. Clarke swallowed.

“I think so, if they haven’t changed it.” She moved forwards, squinting her eyes at the buttons. “Wells and I used to come down here to play when we were kids – it was the ultimate hiding spot from our parents.” She pressed in the nine digit code slowly, carefully, and watching the red blinking light turn green. Then, she started to turn the wheel on the door, Bellamy joining her immediately and fighting against the squealing sounds it made.

Eventually, the door started swinging open, and Clarke moved her way into the bunker. She was faced with a gun pointedly shakily at her head.

Her friends all pulled up their weapons immediately, to point at the stranger, but Clarke just laughed.

“Nice hat,” the stranger grinned.

“Wells,” she breathed, relieved. Wells lowered his gun just in time to be tackled into a hug. He laughed, too, kissing her temple and holding her tightly.

“Clarke – I can’t believe you’re alive. I went to your house… Your dad…” She nodded.

“I know – but you, _you’re alive,_ fuck.” She squeezed him tighter, eyes clamping shut. He smelled stale, but she didn’t doubt that she smelt no better. Wells was alive, thin but strong under her arms, and she grinned into his clothes.

They pulled apart and made the introductions with the rest of her team, before sitting down across the sofas. The door had been shut behind them, and the six ate dried reserves quietly for a moment.

“Where did you go?” Wells asked at last. Clarke shrugged.

“Everywhere – I kept out of the way for ages, and ended up in Texas, Raven and I went to Wisconsin from there. We went really far West before finding the Drop Ship in Polis – that’s where Marcus and my mum are.” Wells raised his eyebrows.

“Have you seen my dad?” She shook her head.

“His flight was delayed, the day of the outbreak – he never arrived.” Wells’ lips pressed into a thin line and Clarke nodded.

“I didn’t see my mum, either,” she continued. “We had to leave the camp before she got back from scouting.” Her best friend raised his eyebrows.

“Why?” Monty spoke up this time.

“We brought a walker into camp,” he replied, his voice devoid of emotion. Monty hadn’t cried since the first few days, just hardened all of his soft edges. Clarke nodded and Wells sighed.

“I came right here from Harvard,” he explained. “No one was around – I checked all of the houses that I knew people in. A few families were holed up, but nothing substantial. Then, these cars started coming through the neighbourhood – massive trucks about a month in. They broke into every house, one by one, and just took everything. Completely destroyed the places.”

“Was my dad still a walker when you went to my house?” Clarke asked first. Wells nodded.

“He was on the floor, but leapt up when I opened the door to your room. I left him like that, left immediately after.” Clarke nodded. It was the bandits that shot him down, then.

“And the bandits came here, too?”

“Is that what we’re calling them?” Wells questioned. “Bandits?”

“It’s what everyone calls them,” Bellamy responded gruffly, not looking up from his food. Wells didn’t seem put off in the slightest and nodded.

“Then yeah, they came here, too. They tripped the alarms when they busted down the gates – I took what I could and came down here.” Everyone was silent, Wells’ face half lit golden by the small lights. “They were up there for ages, just going through everything, taking all the food that would last. I heard a few gunshots, too – I went up a day after they left, found one of those _zombies_ just walking about. I killed him and buried him out in the garden.” Clarke nodded solemnly.

“How much longer can you last down here?”

“A couple of weeks, I think. This bunker was supposed to last for years – it was supposed to be stocked with enough to survive any apocalypse.”

“Well you’ve had two months’ worth,” Clarke nodded.

“Yeah – but there’s only enough for one person.” She furrowed her brow in confusion. “One bed, enough food for one person to last – it’s all made for one, Clarke, how didn’t we see that?” Clarke stayed quiet, mulling over her friend’s words. Thelonious Jaha made a bunker fit for one. She pulled her best friend into a hug, and they stayed like that for a while. The room was silent, and eventually the group nodded off to sleep. She’d never thought of Thelonious to be a bad father, but she wondered about his motives in that moment, and if he was still alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter after this! Thanks so much for reading so far, please remember to tell me what you thought in the comments because I'd love to read it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Massive thank you to all of you who made it to this point, I'm really really thankful for having you guys read it. I'm not great at writing endings but I gave it a shot.  
> Also, I happen to love zombie AUs so I might write a sequel when I'm feeling it.  
> Enjoy!

In the morning, bad things happened.

Wells agreed to leave with them; it was dangerous to stay in one place, especially without weapons and supplies. He led them through his house, into the garage to get to a town car. They siphoned the fuel into one car, and he climbed in. The garage door opened and the group followed Wells out onto the driveway.

“So we’re splitting up in cars?” Octavia asked, gnawing on her lower lip. Clarke nodded.

“There’s not enough space for all of us in one, so we’ll take two. Wells, make sure you follow close enough behind.” He nodded, in the driver’s seat.

“Where are we headed, anyway?” Raven asked, as she picked up a box of supplies from the Jeep’s boot, and moved it into the town car.

“Back to the Drop Ship,” Clarke replied.

“ _What_?” She turned, catching Bellamy’s look. She shrugged.

“We’re not going to just leave you there, or anything. But it’s where my mother is – unless you had any particular plans.” Bellamy shrugged.

“I was hoping we could go through Walden,” he said.

“Why Walden?” Wells wrinkled up his nose. Walden was known for being a poor area with high crime rates. Clarke wouldn’t be surprised if the place was infested with walkers.

“It’s where we come from,” Bellamy replied.

“Mum’s dead, but our friends might still be alive,” Octavia added. Clarke nodded, reaching into the Jeep for the atlas. She ran her finger along the lines of the road, following it from Ark, to Walden, to Polis, before nodding.

“We can pass through, yeah,” she agreed. “We can make it there in a few days, no problem.” Clarke’s head jerked up at the sound of a gunshot. She span around, finding her friends ducked onto the floor.

“That wasn’t us,” Raven hissed. Clarke ducked, too, squatting on the ground. Another gunshot rang out and a window in the house smashed.

“Shit,” Wells said from inside the car. “We have to go.”

“Get in the cars,” Clarke ordered. She climbed in the passenger side of the car, crawling over the console and into the driver’s seat. Her hands fumbled with the keys and she heard four more gun shots in succession.

“There’s more than one of them,” Monty called out, slamming the car door as he got in. As Clarke finally got the key into the ignition, her eyes scoured the tree line – there was another gunshot, a flash, and she gritted her teeth.

“There’s one to the right!” She yelled to the group. Raven was still out in the open – Octavia had managed to get into the town car, and Bellamy was outside. Bullets started to ricochet off the ground, missing people by small margins.

“Get in the car!” Octavia screamed. Raven ducked for the door to the town car – it was closer, and let out a yelp. “Raven!”

“Shit,” Bellamy swore. “She’s been hit.”

“Get her and let’s go,” Clarke ordered, glaring.

“I need cover – she’s out in the open.” Clarke nodded, pushing down on the accelerator and swerving in front of the open space between the two cars. Bellamy ducked then as the side of the Jeep was pelted with bullets. Monty ducked down in the back, holding his head in his hands, and Clarke flinched as the far back window shattered.

“Anytime now!” Clarke yelled. She looked out the window, finding Bellamy lifting Raven into the backseat of the town car. She was heaving, her hand coated in blood, and dripping red onto the ground. Bellamy slammed the door shut, running back to the Jeep. He swore, getting clipped by something fast, invisible, but kept going.

The second he was in, Clarke revved the engine, pulling out onto the drive way and storming down the road. In the rear view mirror, she saw Wells speeding along behind her. Clarke glanced at Bellamy before looking back to the road – the gunshots were still coming out of the trees, but she didn’t care.

“Are you okay?” She asked. Bellamy nodded tersely. He held his arm in his hand, putting pressure on the pain.

“It’s small, it’ll be fine,” he replied. Clarke swallowed, and sped the car up. She caught sight of a few trucks, lining the streets – ones that she hadn’t seen before – but they were all empty. Clarke drove for miles without stopping, she sped through crowds of walkers without so much as blinking and kept going until the sun was high in the sky.

“I don’t think they’re following us,” Monty told her after an hour. Clarke kept going anyway – she wasn’t taking the risk.

“How bad was Raven?” She asked Bellamy after a while, breaking the silence.

“It wasn’t good,” he replied. Clarke nodded.

“One of your friends in Walden better be a doctor,” she said. “We’re going to need one.”

-

Without stopping every few hours for a rest, they made it to Walden in less than twenty four hours. Clarke followed Bellamy’s directions through the town, early morning light filtering through the clouds. Around them, walkers were _everywhere._ She was right when she thought they would be – they had to drive through hordes of walkers, Bellamy eyeing every one of them to see if it’s someone he knew.

“I don’t recognise many,” he admitted. “A couple of people I worked with, a few kids from school, I don’t know though.”

“We’ll try the hospital,” Clarke decided. “Marcus mentioned that camps are being built in hospitals all over the place.” Bellamy nodded, pointing her down a road on the left.

It wasn’t long until they made it to the hospital; the fences were make-shift barricades. Bins were pushed up in rows, wooden planks nailed to them. Some areas looked sturdier than others and Clarke stopped just outside the fence.

“We can carry her over,” she decided, opening the door and jumping out. The group followed her lead, moving Raven out of the car as she groaned. The bullet had gone through her hip and most of the seating was drenched in her blood, including Octavia. Bellamy’s bicep was bandaged with a ripped t-shirt, whilst the others were relatively unscathed.

They locked up the cars, Clarke jumping up onto the dumpster, Monty joining her. They passed Raven over the top, and then down to Bellamy and Wells, who’d moved onto the other side of the fence to catch her. Then it was a matter of running and carrying. Raven hissed in pain as Wells moved with her in his arms, and the others ran ahead.

The windows were all boarded up, and the doors were locked. Clarke shot down a walker that came at them from the left, and turned just in time to see Octavia slice through one on the right.

“There’s got to be an entrance,” Monty said, eyes scanning the building. “Bellamy – you’re the fastest, check that end, there might be an entrance by radiology.” Bellamy nodded, taking off in a sprint down the side of the building. Clarke shot another walker that came towards them; she missed one bullet and landed the second in the head.

“We don’t have time for this,” she hissed. The sounds of engines hit her ears and she span to face where they left the cars.

“They wouldn’t have followed us this far, right?” Wells asked, hefting Raven’s body in his arms. Octavia stared at them, eyes wide, before running in the direction of the fence. Clarke watched, breathing heavily as she vaulted onto the dumpster, and looked about. A moment later she jumped back down, crouching a little as she ran back.

“Find cover,” Octavia instructed.

“Bandits?” Monty asked. She nodded.

“And we left the rest of our weapons in the cars.”

Clarke swore, looking down to where Bellamy had gone.

“We’ll go that way,” she decided. “Come on.” They all took off running, heading in the direction they’d seen Bellamy go. Clarke’s legs pumped quickly, and she didn’t look back. She knew there were walkers milling about the grounds and took out her knife as she went. “Try not to use guns,” she called to the others. “They’ll hear them.”

As they rounded the corner, Clarke stabbed a walker in the eye, yanking out the knife and kept running. Monty picked up a loose pole, from near the fence, hitting a walker in the knee and then smashing its skull. Octavia sliced through another’s neck before moving on. The three of them covered Wells and Raven, the latter of the two bleeding out as they ran.

There was the sound of a door opening, up ahead, and Bellamy appeared, running.

“Guys!” He stopped, huffing and pulling the trigger of his gun – a walker falling to the ground. Clarke swore internally. “What’s going on?”

“Bandits,” Clarke replied, running in the direction Bellamy had just come from. Wells followed closely behind, and then the rest of the group. Inside, there were people – a young girl watching, eyes wide, and an old man behind her.

“What is happening?” The man asked.

“She’s been shot,” Clarke replied quickly, still rushing through the hallways. Everyone followed behind – the girl locked the door before running, too. “Bandits are outside.”

“Bandits?!” She didn’t hear much else – Clarke had grown up in hospitals; she knew the layouts well, how to follow the signs, where different equipment was likely to be. She was supposed to go to med school in the fall, but that wouldn’t be happening anymore. Clarke ducked into a room marked for surgery.

“Bring her in!” She yelled to Wells. He followed her instructions and she turned back to the man. “Do you have any doctors?” He nodded. “Get them.”

-

When Raven died, Clarke watched through the window as the doctors gave up. She entered the room, not caring about hygiene or protocol, and pulled her gun from the waistband of her jeans. Clarke didn’t even blink when she held the barrel of the gun to Raven’s head. She knew she would cry over it later, would feel the hole where her friend had once been, but in that moment, all she knew was the gunshot, was Raven not coming back to kill them, was her friend being at peace.

She got her friends to pack up supplies.

“Ours are all out in that Jeep,” she complained when Maya, the girl who’d let them in, asked. “We need more if we’re getting out of here.”

“You brought the bandits to us, and you’re just going to leave them here?” Clarke studied her for a second; clean skin, well-brushed hair, clothes without blood stains. Oh, how they contrasted.

“Yes,” she replied. “It’s all we can do now.” As Clarke turned away, Maya caught her arm.

“You can’t do this to us,” she hissed. Clarke sighed.

“Bellamy won’t let Octavia die,” she said. “I won’t let Bellamy die. Wells won’t let me die. If we stay here, we’re all gonners.” She and Maya locked eyes for a moment, before Maya spoke again.

“You killed your friend without flinching.” Clarke clenched her jaw and nodded, hefting the box of supplies in her arms.

“We brought a walker into the last camp we were in,” she replied. “I wasn’t going to bring a walker into this one, too.”

They left out the back doors of the hospital, and didn’t shake hands with the man – Dante Wallace – who was running the place. Clarke led them around the side of the fence, crouching to avoid being spotted. There were five of them once more, and they were carrying boxes of supplies in one of their arms and a gun in the other.

“We either take the Jeep, or one of their trucks,” Clarke decided. “I don’t care which right now – just one of them.” They all nodded, and moved forwards, making a large arc around the back of the walkers, taking slow, quiet steps to avoid being heard. The walkers made ungodly moans and howls, and the gunfire rained across the hospital.

They made it around to where the Jeep was parked, and crouched in the bushes across the road.

“The back is open,” Monty pointed out. “They’re all around the front.”

“We could enter through the back of the car and get in,” Wells agreed. Clarke nodded, passing her box to Wells.

“I’ll go first – get in, and park nearby. When I do, you guys have to get in right away.”

“The lurkers will be on us so fast,” Wells said.

“They’ll see you,” Octavia retorted. “They’ll get to you, Clarke.” She swallowed, checking the magazine in her gun. She only had a few rounds left.

“I’ll be fine,” she promised, no matter how much she thought she wouldn’t be.

“Come on,” Bellamy sighed. “I’ll cover you.”

“I said I’ll be fine-“

“I’m covering you, stop fighting it.” They glared at one another for a second before Clarke relented, standing and clicking the safety of the gun off. She pressed the button on the keys, unlocking it from the distance. The lights flashed and a sound rang out. Only one or two walkers looked at it, before going back to pushing down the fences to the hospital. Clarke pulled out her knife, readying it.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Bellamy told her, lifting his gun. She nodded, before stepping out into the road. She ran, crouched, across the concrete, slashing her knife through the throat of a walker, and watching it fall to the ground, a bullet from Bellamy’s gun in its brain. She moved forward, ducking under a walker’s arms, and dodging another, until she got to the boot of the car, and heard gunshots and falling bodies all the way. Clarke opened the door, climbing in and shutting it behind her. Then she moved over the back of the seats, crawling through the Jeep until she was in the driver’s seat once again.

From there, she was surrounded by walkers. They hadn’t noticed her; but were pushing forwards, trying to get into the grounds of the hospital. Clarke took a breath in that moment, watching the bandits over the fence, shooting at the people in the hospital – they were all so strong, so big and tattooed. Clarke swallowed, sticking the key into the ignition and starting it up. The bandits didn’t seem to notice, and she reversed quickly, feeling the bumps as she ran over the bodies of walkers that were in her way.

Almost immediately the three doors flung open – Bellamy climbed into the front, Wells, Monty and Octavia in the back. Clarke sped off down the road, then, her friends laden with boxes and Raven, left dead on an operating table.

-

They drove in silence, only stopping for more fuel and signs of life. They traded with survivors, warned them of the bandits, and continued on their way. They didn’t accept any offers of sticking around, joining groups, giving rides. The five of them just kept going.

At one gas station, a group of survivors raised their eyebrows at Octavia; so small and innocent. When the walkers arrived she threw her knife, landing it straight in the lurker’s forehead.

At other places, they warned them of the militant camps nearby; strict in their ruling, merciless in their killings. Apparently they’d been shooting survivors as well as the walkers, and Clarke made sure to get back into the car and drive away as quickly as possible.

Bellamy stuck by her side, no matter what. “I’m with you ‘til the end,” he promised her, when she found him a car that he and his sister could take. She could hear the tinge in his voice, the sincerity in his tone – Clarke couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye when she smiled, because she didn’t deserve the warmth she knew would be there.

It was almost two weeks after Raven’s death and Clarke finally had a moment alone. They’d stopped by a river on their way to Polis. None of them planned on returning to the Drop Ship, anymore, but they’d hoped to find Abby in the area instead. Clarke had left the keys in the Jeep, kept the heater running, and she sat out on the rocks by the water. She was sure she would hear any dangers in the area, given what a silent night it was, and she was right, when Bellamy’s footsteps rang out, clear as day.

He joined her, leaving only a small gap between their bodies. Clarke looked away, rubbing her hand at her cheeks, hoping to rid them of the wetness. But he’d seen, and Bellamy’s arm wrapped around her shoulder, pulling her into an embrace.

“It’s okay,” he promised, because Bellamy always promised that it wasn’t as bad as anyone thought it would be.

“I shot her,” Clarke whispered. “I shot Raven.”

“She was dead,” came his voice, strangled but sincere. “She didn’t feel it – you did the right thing.” Clarke nodded, though she didn’t believe it, pushing her head into his chest and breathing him in as she let the remaining tears flow out of her. Eventually, she pulled away, shooting him a grateful smile before turning back to the river.

“Did you know your dad was a lurker?” Bellamy asked. Clarke glanced over, finding him staring resolutely at the sky, glittering with stars. Clarke nodded, looking upwards.

“He’d come home the night before, complaining about some homeless man biting him,” she scoffed a little at the thought – it felt so long ago, so stupid that they both just accepted it. “He came to my room the next morning as a walker, trying to eat me.”

“That sucks,” Bellamy replied. Clarke sighed.

“Yeah, it does. I left him in my room – shut the door behind me and got out of there. Apparently it was happening all over the place and the apocalypse began. What about you? Octavia said your mum was gone?” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bellamy nod.

“Yeah – she overdosed a few days before the recorded outbreak. The ambulance turned up, the police, too. Me and Octavia just sat in the living room until there was a scream, and the paramedics, who had been putting her into a body bag at the time, ran out. Our mum followed, full-on lurker, and bites an officer.” Clarke snorted, shaking her head.

“Did you leave her there?” She asked.

“Nah, the other officer shot at her until he hit her in the head. She went down and it was marked to go under investigation – she was going to be studied and everything; some form of natural phenomenon.”

“And then the outbreak happened,” Clarke continued.

“And no one really cared about one junkie coming back to life anymore,” Bellamy finished. They smiled ruefully at each other – it was by no means a good thing, but it was enough to bring them together. While Clarke would never really be thankful for the apocalypse, and the destruction of mankind, she was thankful for Bellamy all the same.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, looking at the stars that stretched above them on a black canvas; like diamonds on velvet; and eventually Clarke’s head tilted onto Bellamy’s shoulder. His hand slowly made its way to her chin, tilting her face upwards until it met his, lips on lips, breathing in all that she was, while she happily gave it to him. Clarke had kissed before but never like that; never in a way that made her feel so special, so important, like he had been waiting just to kiss her right there by a river in the moonlight.

The people of the world were coming back from the dead, and in that moment, Clarke had never felt more alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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**Author's Note:**

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